The Cottonwood, or Carolina Poplar

Teacher’s Story

HE sojourner on our western plains where streams are few and sluggish, disappearing entirely in summer, soon learns to love the cottonwoods, for they will grow and cast their shade for men and cattle where no other tree could endure. The cottonwood may be unkempt and ragged, but it is a tree, and we are grateful to it for its ability to grow in unfavorable situations. In the Middle West it attains its perfection, although in New York we have some superb specimens—trees which are more than one hundred feet in height and with majestic trunks, perhaps five or six feet through. The deep-furrowed, pale gray bark makes a handsome covering. The trunk divides into great out-swinging, widely spaced branches, which bear a fine spray on their drooping ends. Sargent declares that at its best the cottonwood is one of the statliest inhabitants of our eastern forests. The variety we plant in cities we call the Carolina poplar, but it is a cottonwood. It is a rapid grower, and therefore a great help to the “boom towns” of the West and to the boom suburbs in the East; although for a city tree its weak branches break too readily in wind storms in old age. However, it keeps its foliage clean, the varnished leaves shedding the dust and smoke; because of this latter quality it is of special use in towns that burn soft coal.

The cottonwood twigs which we gather for study in the spring are yellowish or reddish, those of last year’s growth being smooth and round, while those showing previous growth are angular. The buds are red-brown and shining, and covered with resin which the bees like to collect for their glue. The leaf buds are slender and sharp-pointed; the flower buds are wider and plumper.

The two sexes of the flowers are borne on separate trees. The trees bearing pollen catkins are so completely covered with them that they take on a very furry, purplish appearance when in blossom. These catkins are from three to five inches long and half an inch thick, looking fat and pendulous; each fringed scale of the catkin has at its base a disc looking like a white bracket, from which hang the reddish purple anthers; these catkins fall after the pollen is shed and look like red caterpillars upon the ground.

The seed-bearing flowers are very different; they look like a string of little, greenish beads loosely strung. Each pistil is globular and set in a tiny cup, and it has three or four stigmas which are widened or lobed; as it matures, it becomes larger and darker green, and the string elongates to six or even ten inches. The little pointed pods open into two or more valves and set free the seeds, which are provided with a fluff of pappus to sail them off on the breeze; so many of the seeds develop that every object in the neighborhood is covered with their fuzz, and thus the tree has gained its name “cottonwood.”

The foliage of the cottonwood is like that of other poplars, trembling with the breeze. The heavy, subcircular leaf is supported on the sidewise flattened petiole, so that the slightest breath of air sets it quaking; a gentle breeze sets the whole tree twinkling and gives the eye a fascinating impression as of leaves beckoning. The leaf is in itself pretty. It is from three to five inches long, broad, slightly angular at the base and has a long, tapering, pointed tip. The edge is saw-toothed, and also slightly ruffled except near the stem where it is smooth; it is thick and shining green above and paler beneath. The long, slender petiole is red or yellowish, and the leaves are placed alternate on the twigs.

In the autumn the leaves are brilliant yellow. The wood is soft, weak, fine-grained, whitish or yellowish, and has a satiny luster; it is not durable. It is used somewhat for building and for furniture, in some kinds of cooperage, and also for crates and woodenware; but its greatest use is for making the pulp for paper. Many newspapers and books are printed on cottonwood paper. It is common from the Middle States to the Rocky Mountains and from Manitoba to Texas.